


Mimicry

by makethestorylast



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Poly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29638608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makethestorylast/pseuds/makethestorylast
Summary: Wilbur returns from the Black and White to the painful realization of exactly what he left behind--and how much of an impact he really had.
Relationships: Wilbur Cross/John McNamara, Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Mimicry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [projectiondelivery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectiondelivery/gifts).



> CW // None
> 
> Lots of love to projectiondelivery who came up with the original idea for this fic <3

A portal in the darkness. Swirling lights, a flash of green, and then Wilbur was falling.

Falling.

Until he hit solid ground with a thud, the pain barely registering through the fog of confusion. Disoriented, he lifted his head, blinking when he couldn’t make out anything through his blurred vision.

He pushed himself up from the floor, cold tile under his hands. Cold,  _ familiar  _ tile. He looked around properly, taking everything in. A PEIP lab. 

He was either saved or utterly fucked. 

“I certainly hope you have a plan,” someone whispered under their breath.

“I find it hilarious that you think this is a circumstance I would ever think to plan for,” John replied.

_ John. _

Everything clicked. Wilbur was safe, John was here. That’s all that mattered. His face broke into a smile. 

“John, I—”

“Don’t,” he said, cutting Wilbur off. He didn’t shift from his stance, straight upright with hands clasped behind his back, and somehow that hurt more than the way he seemed to look at Wilbur like he was something… inhuman.

A memory floated to the front of his mind, an unfamiliar sensation considering he couldn’t remember a time since he stepped through the portal that he could even  _ remember _ anything.

_ “Look out, Cross, you’ve got a shadow.” Lieutenant Harris nudged his shoulder and motioned toward a new recruit, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back just so, stiff as a board, his chin tilted up. A perfect reflection of Wilbur’s stance.  _

_ “Watch it, Harris,” he replied with a playful glare, but pride swelled in his chest. He could already tell the new recruit would turn out to be great, he could feel it. _

Wilbur shook his head, like that would clear it of the thought. He must’ve missed something, because with no warning, someone he didn’t recognize lifted him off the ground, yanking his arms behind his back for just a moment before letting them go. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John giving the person a pointed glare. He jerked his head toward the door.

“Room 163B, it should be open.” 

Wilbur didn’t bother to look back at the person as they guided him down the hallway. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on John the whole way out, until the door swung closed and blocked his line of sight, doing all he could to keep the hurt out of his face.

* * *

Wilbur lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Of course, his thoughts didn’t make sense in the slightest, and he conceded after a few minutes of effort trying to remember anything from the stretch of endless darkness that he was still disoriented from... something.

He remembered falling, the flipping in his stomach as he tumbled through nothingness, unable to differentiate between up and down. And he remembered hitting the ground.

A knock at the door startled him out of his train of thought.

“May I?” came John’s gruff voice from the other side. Wilbur nodded, then realized John couldn’t see him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse, though from disuse or misuse he couldn’t tell. He pushed himself into a sitting position.

John opened the door, hesitating in the doorway for a moment before joining Wilbur on the bed. They sat in silence for a moment.

“What do you remember?” John all but whispered.

Wilbur considered making a joke, but one look at John’s face made him reconsider. How long had it been? John had worry lines set deep in his face, marking where time and stress finally started weighing on him. Was this Wilbur’s fault?

“Not much,” he answered honestly. “I remember... before. But it’s all just a gaping hole. I just remember darkness. And then I…” He trailed off, that visceral falling feeling coming back in full force.

John nodded, his brows furrowed. He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. Another memory bubbled to the surface, one Wilbur used to constantly make a point to bring up, if only to get a rise out of John.

_ Wilbur sighed at the papers and ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back out of his face. _

_ “It’s no wonder your hair is always so greasy,” John teased, “you keep putting your hands in it.” _

_ “My hair is not greasy, you ass.” He tried—and failed—to look angry. John laughed. “Keep it up and I’ll stop playing with your hair.” _

_ That shut him up pretty quickly. _

Wilbur bit back a laugh, managing a wistful smile instead, ignoring the pang in his heart. 

“How’ve you held up?” he asked to distract himself. He hoped it would distract John, too, but if anything, it made his stressed expression worse.

“It’s been a long thirteen years, Wilbur. I’m not going to lie.”

“Thirteen years?” he whispered back. Even saying the words, it felt unreal. That couldn’t—it hadn’t been—there was no way. He would know if it’d been that long.

But, a voice in the back of his head reminded him, he couldn’t even remember. How would he know?

Thirteen years. How much had changed in thirteen years?

John’s coldness, his detachment, it made sense now. Thirteen years. He kept repeating it in his mind as if it would suddenly make sense.

He struggled not to voice the millions of questions on the tip of his tongue. He limited himself to one.

“What about us?”

He lowered his voice so much he wondered if John would even hear him. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—he did. John didn’t answer for a long moment, which all but confirmed Wilbur’s fears, but he clung to vain hope.

“I…” John trailed off again. “Tomorrow.”

“John…”

“Tomorrow. We can—I’ll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow. But I need a minute. You have to understand, this is a lot.”

Wilbur nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, a lot. I understand.” Of course John moved on, why did he even bother asking? Now he had to wait until the morning for John to confirm something he already knew was true. He blinked back tears. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Wilbur didn’t even bother looking up as the door clicked shut.

* * *

He wasn’t sure what he was doing. This didn’t make logical sense. He didn’t know what he hoped to find. Answers, maybe, but he didn’t know the questions. Exhaustion pulled at him, but he pressed on, walking down the hallways with his chin up. Look the part, he reminded himself. Look the part and no one will stop him.

He wished someone stopped him.

He rounded a corner and froze. Through a window to a room down the hall, he could see John sitting at a desk across from a man he didn’t recognize, John’s hand in the stranger’s. The open door and the empty hallway meant he could hear every word.

“I’m scared.” John hated to admit that. Wilbur had to coax the truth out of him hundreds of times, sit and talk until he finally admitted it. It hurt to hear him tell someone else so easily. 

“You don’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere. No matter what,” the stranger said.

John lifted his hand up and pressed a short kiss to the back of it. Wilbur fought to keep down a sudden surge of pain and anger. This wasn't right, that’s not how this was supposed to go. That’s not how any of this was supposed to go.

_ “I wish you didn’t have to go.” _

_ “I know. So do I.” He grabbed John’s hand from across the table, lacing their fingers together. “But just think of all that could be out there.” He couldn’t hide the reverence in his voice. _

_ “Don’t talk like that, Wil, you know it scares me.” _

_ “I know, darling, I know.” He smiled sadly, wishing there was some way to ease all of John’s worries. Wilbur lifted John’s hand and gently pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you. Forever. Promise me you won’t forget?” _

_ “You make it sound like you’re not coming back.” John tried to sound teasing, but it came out far more worried than he intended. _

_ “Promise me?” Wilbur asked again, not ready to respond to that quite yet. _

_ “I promise.” _

He couldn’t move, rooted to the spot, no matter how much he wanted to turn away, to leave, to run, to be anywhere but here.

“Are you going to ask him?” the stranger asked quietly, catching Wilbur’s attention again. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to listen. He listened anyway. 

“I don’t know. I… I don’t want to lose either of you.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I love you.”

“Forever?” John asked, so quietly even the stranger across from him seemed to think he imagined it for a moment.

Under his breath, Wilbur whispered, “Forever.” He waited for the stranger to say it, to say  _ anything _ . He couldn’t just leave John like that, he had to say something. Wilbur begged with the man silently. If he couldn’t make John happy anymore,  _ someone _ had to.

The man nodded.

“You should tell him,” he whispered, gently running his thumb over John’s knuckles. 

“And you’re sure that’s okay?” 

“I’m sure. He makes you happy.”

_ “You _ make me happy.”

“No law saying we can’t both make you happy.”

“Pretty sure there is, actually,” John said with a watery laugh.

“Nah, that’s just marriage. And besides, when have you given a shit about marriage laws?”

“Watch it, Xander.” John jabbed his finger into the man’s— _ Xander’s— _ chest with a grin. “I don’t see  _ you _ volunteering to break laws for me.”

“Oh no, I am not living up to my full potential as a husband, I must rectify that immediately,” he said, deadpan and clearly struggling to hold back a smile. “I can’t break marriage laws anymore, is arson okay?”

John burst out laughing, and Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. Masked by the noise, he slipped out of the hallway and hurried back to the room. 

John was happy. That’s all he needed to know.

* * *

Wilbur didn’t expect “tomorrow” to mean “five in the fucking morning,” but then again, he probably should’ve guessed. Regardless, he had to scramble to put on a shirt and at least pretend like his messy hair was salvageable before he called out a still-drowsy “Come in.”

John opened the door slowly, like he expected Wilbur to not be ready at all. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to either of them. This time, John didn’t hesitate in joining Wilbur on the bed, though he did tactfully avoid eye contact until Wilbur looked at least a bit presentable.

“You said you had questions?” John asked, and Wilbur figured he was stalling rather than actually interested.

“I don’t, actually. Not anymore.” Wilbur wasn’t lying. He answered his own question—maybe not in the most ethical way, but he answered it.

“You don’t?” John raised an eyebrow. “But I thought you—”

“I overheard you last night,” he admitted before he could second-guess himself. “You sounded happy. You  _ looked _ happy.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that.” John opened his mouth again, like he wanted to add something to that, but stayed silent.

”Don’t be.”

The conversation he heard the night before echoed in his mind. As self-centered as it sounded, Wilbur was almost certain the “him” was…  _ him. _ He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but it sounded like—

“I need to ask you something.” John stared resolutely at the floor, whatever false sense of confidence he walked in with completely gone.

“Shoot.”

John didn’t say anything at first. A few times, he looked on the verge of finally speaking, but then he’d shake his head and train his gaze back on the floor.

“I...” He trailed off, glancing over at Wilbur, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Xander and I talked, and—you were there for that, what am I saying—I just... I don’t want to lose you because of everything. I promised you, do you remember that?”

He looked so hopeful, even if Wilbur didn’t remember, he was ready to lie through his teeth to keep John’s face from falling. Luckily, he didn’t have to lie. “I remember every second, sweetheart.”

The pet name slipped out on accident, and he froze, ready to apologize profusely, but John just smiled.

“I want us to be  _ us _ still. If you want that too.”

“And Xander is okay with this?” Wilbur already knew, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking again.

John nodded. 

“I want this. I do.” Wilbur hesitated for a moment, then took John’s hand. “But I don’t want to screw up what you have, that’s something really special.”

“You won’t—”

“I’m not saying no.” John relaxed slightly. “I just… If we start going too fast, tell me? Or if you change your mind?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Wilbur nodded with a smile, blinking back tears. “I missed you.”

“You don't even remember the last thirteen years, how could you miss me?” John said, and Wilbur froze for a second before he caught John’s shit-eating grin and realized he was teasing him. The bastard.

“Oh shut up,” he replied, shoving John lightly. He leaned in for a kiss but stopped at the last second. “Can I…?”

“What?” John asked, not processing it at first. Then he glanced down at Wilbur’s lips. “Oh.”

“You know, if the answer is no, you can just tell me.” Wilbur whispered hurriedly. Unfortunately, in the time it took to reassure John, he must’ve gotten impatient. He leaned up and pecked Wilbur on the cheek, just to the right of his lips. For a few seconds, Wilbur forgot how to form a coherent sentence.

“Do you want to go talk to Xander yourself? Just to be sure?” John asked with a sly smile as he watched Wilbur struggle to process the kiss. 

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, that sounds... Yeah,” he managed to stammer out, definitely  _ not _ blushing. “Let’s do that.”

John grabbed Wilbur’s arm and led him out of the room, still grinning as he blinked a few times, dazed. When he finally seemed to process what just happened, John stopped and turned to kiss him again, this time a peck on the lips. 

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Wilbur stammered out, somehow blushing more.

“All’s fair in love and war,” John teased back, dragging a very flustered Wilbur down the hall toward Xander’s office. They had time to talk this out. They had all the time in the world now. Wilbur couldn’t wipe the dazed smile off his face. John was happy. He was happy. They were going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> <3
> 
> [Check out my other socials here!](https://linktr.ee/makethestorylast)


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